“Maybe.”
“Maybe to unpacking?”
“To a second date.” A warmth spread through Liam’s chest, and he swore his heart gave an extra thump.
“Awesome,” he replied, as if he were sixteen and the cutest girl in school had just maybe agreed to go to the ice cream parlor with him. “I’ll call you after I talk to Troy.”
“’Night, Liam.” Her voice was sweet, and although it was dangerous, he imagined her in bed, with nothing but a smile and a remote control. Every man’s fantasy.
“’Night, Spence.”
Chapter Twenty
When Spencer woke the next morning, she checked her cell phone to see if someone—anyone—had called.
Okay, so she hoped Liam had phoned. She thumbed through her recent calls, social media sites, nothing.
Spencer dressed and went to the office, just in case important calls came through to her there.
“Uhmm, Spencer?” Nora entered the room.
“Yes?”
“You have a message.”
So Liam had called. Game time.
“What did Mr. Connelly have to say?”
Nora handed a piece of paper to Spencer and took a few steps back as if that would soften the blow. “Your dad called.”
Spencer probably stood stone silent for a good thirty seconds processing the news.
“Spencer?” Nora snapped her fingers in front of her face.
“That is really so rude,” Rainey scolded, stopping by the office door when she spotted Nora snapping at Spencer again. “How would you like to be snapped at?” Rainey snapped for emphasis.
“Soooo…” Spencer drew out the word. “Who called again?”
“Your father,” Nora repeated herself.
“You sure?” Spencer asked. “It wasn’t George?”
“Unless George introduces himself as Hayes Hightower.”
“George introduces himself as George Clayton, from Senator Hightower’s office,” Spencer said, imitating the man’s flat intonation perfectly.
“Right. And this strange man introduced himself as Hayes Hightower.”
“That’s my dad.”
“So I’ve heard,” Nora said.
“My dad doesn’t call me.”
“He did.”
“George calls me.”
“He didn’t,” Nora sighed. “Look, is this some weird Senatorial protocol I don’t know about? Or did you want George to call you?”
“No, I wanted…” Spencer stopped herself. She had wanted someone to call her, and it wasn’t her father or her father’s chief of staff. She’d wanted a tall, tattooed dreamboat on the phone. With good news about a paternity test, of course. Spencer shook her head. “I’ll try to get ahold of him.”
“Okay…” With a long, questioning look, Nora backed slowly out of the office, Rainey following close behind. Spencer took a calming breath and dialed a number that she had memorized but rarely used.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Spencer, so good to hear from you.” She heard the restrained sarcasm in his voice.
“Sorry, I just received your message. You can dial my cell phone if you need to get me immediately.”
“Isn’t your office supposed to handle your calls?”
“They do, but friends and family are allowed to dial me directly.” She heard the restrained sarcasm in her own voice.
“Excellent,” was Senator Hightower’s quick reply. “George tells me you haven’t RSVP’d for tonight.”
“Tonight?”
The Senator continued talking. “I put you down for two…”
“Two?” Spencer hurried to her computer to check her calendar.
“At my table,” The Senator was saying. “It will be good to see you.”
“Yes, it will. And will mom be there?” Wherever “there” was.
“No, she gave up on the foundation three years ago because of that whole Sarah Palin debacle. As if anyone wants to eat moose steak.”
Spencer’s head dropped into her chest, taking a moment. The Foundation for the American Family. Oh. Crap. She’d forgotten the conservative think tank’s annual meeting was about to kick off in Dallas, and her father was a fan. A big fan. A founding member, in fact.
“I’ll see you tonight; don’t be late. The table won’t wait on you.” Senator Hightower hung up without saying goodbye, but that was just par for the course for such a busy, important person.
Rainey and Nora popped their heads in, like prairie dogs. “Foundation for the American Family. Tonight,” was all Spencer managed, a bleak expression on her face.
“Ugh.” Rainey made a face.
“Do you have something to wear?” Nora asked.
Spencer nodded. “My black Chanel… Oh, crap.”
“Your black Chanel? I love that dress.”
“It’s torn.” Liam, Spencer thought.
“Torn? When?” Nora asked. At the benefit, Liam’s jacket had hidden the damage done to the dress, and Nora had been too animated that night to pay much attention. Liam. The memory made Spencer swear again.
“Don’t do that. It scares us when you cuss,” Rainey said.
“I need a dress. And a plus-one.”
“Call JT,” Rainey suggested.
Spencer noticed Nora’s tiny flinch and waved that off. “He has a thing.” Liam. She remembered a wet, perfect male body and a kiss of an angel—or a devil. Which was ridiculous, she told herself. One, Liam would need to come fully dressed to the Foundation dinner. And two, there would be no kissing with the Senator around.
Spencer checked her watch. “Let’s hit up Neimans.”
“What about a plus-one?” Nora asked. Spencer thought about it. Liam was supposed to call her. At any moment, as a matter of fact, to let her know Troy’s decision about the paternity test. When he called, she’d bring up the dinner nonchalantly. She mentally rehearsed the conversation. Hey, you have to eat tonight, so why don’t you get dressed up and come and eat some rubber chicken and limp broccoli with a bunch of uptight, conservative rich people. Sounds good? I’ll pick you up at seven.
Focusing on her friends, Spencer made a plan. “Neimans first. Man later.”
One lunch break, two department store floors, three trips to the dressing room, and six dresses later, Liam still hadn’t phoned or texted. Not that Spencer was focusing on that. At all. She was shopping for a dress for a quasi-political dinner in support of her father, a United States senator.
Image counted.
The dress had to be perfect. Still, her distraction showed when she accepted Nora’s selection of a red sequined mini-dress.
What would Liam think when he saw her in it? Red, short, and tight, it was a guaranteed winner for a third date.
This wasn’t a third date, though. This wasn’t a date at all, Spencer told herself, as she tried on an emerald green number that the first former First Lady Bush would have looked fantastic in.
But not quite right.
Finally, Rainey and Nora approved a long, flowing white dress that tied over one shoulder.
Back in the office, Spencer finally made the call. It was nearly four o’clock, and she wasn’t getting a date just by sitting there, twiddling her thumbs.
She picked up her cell. It wasn’t her style to call a man and ask him out. Well, not a man she really liked. Doing it for business was one thing. Doing it when a man’s voice made your stomach flutter was another.
It was a horrible idea. She put down her cell. The Foundation for the American Family, for Pete’s sake. Her father would be there. Nothing about that was fun, or cool, or interesting. Liam would despise it.
Spencer thought of her father, doing the thing he did at parties, all eagle-eyed and critical, and then she thought of Liam Connelly’s warm, firm hand holding hers and immediately some of the stress melted away.
With a deep breath, she took the plunge.
“Hi.” Liam’s greeting was easy, cool.
“Hi,” Spencer breathed, focusing on gain
ing control. “What’s up?” She scrunched up her nose. She sounded like a nervous teenager.
“I haven’t gotten Troy yet, but…”
Spencer interrupted him. “That’s not what I’m calling about.”
“It’s not?”
“Well…no.”
There was a beat of expectation, on both their sides. Was he disappointed? Relieved? Spencer pushed on. “So, there’s this thing…”
“Yes?”
“I mean, it’s going to be really lame. Not very fun. Bad food and old fogeys.”
This time Liam interrupted her. “Spencer?”
“What?”
“Are you trying to talk me out of going with you?”
“No.”
“Good, because my answer is yes.”
“Oh.” Spencer realized what she’d been saying. And what he’d just said.
“A thing, huh?”
“Yes. A lame thing,” she repeated with a rueful tone.
“It’s so nice to be asked out.”
“No.” Spencer spoke firmly. “I’m not asking you out. This is a boring, unavoidable thing, and I need to bring someone.”
“So you thought of me. I’m flattered.”
Spencer couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course. You’re the opposition. I want to bore you into agreeing to Troy Duncan’s paternity test.”
“Nice strategy. I’ll have to use that sometime.” Liam paused. “Do I need to wear a suit?”
“Yes,” she said, knowing what was coming next.
“Can I have my coat back?”
“I guess…” She picked up a pen and twirled it through her fingers.
“When?”
“When what?”
“When is the thing?”
Spencer blinked. She hadn’t told him? “Tonight. Tonight is the thing.”
Liam cursed. “I already have a thing tonight.”
“Oh.”
“It’s…” Liam paused. “Work. I really have to go.”
Spencer nodded, thinking of her new dress and, for some reason, was far more disappointed than she should be. “That’s fine. My thing is not really a fun thing, anyway.”
“Stop trying to convince me.” She had to laugh, despite her disappointment.
…
Spencer handed the keys to the valet, glanced up, and read the hotel banner welcoming the Foundation’s members. Stepping inside the entrance, she saw a giant red, white, and blue sign welcoming the dinner guests and advertising the celebrity guest speaker for the night: Troy Duncan.
She stalled, stone still as fancy dresses and suits flowed around her, and steeled herself. Where Troy Duncan was, so was his agent. And like magic, she turned to the left and found Liam Connelly entering the hotel.
There were a hundred other people milling about, making their way to the ballroom, but only one man filled her vision, strutting toward her like he owned the damn place. His broad shoulders and muscular body were accentuated by a slate gray suit over a black shirt that opened a little at the neck. No tie. Of course, not. He’d managed to comb his hair tonight but he hadn’t shaved, the dark stubble shading his strong jaw.
Liam was close enough to talk, and a thousand strange things flitted through her brain. A brain usually wired for the perfect sound bite, the witty retort, the sassy comeback. Instead, she asked, “Is this your thing?”
…
Liam didn’t even notice her greeting. He was too distracted by her brilliance. Her hair appeared softer than she’d worn it at the last fancy event. It was pulled back in a low ponytail, a thin braid circling her face that made her seem fresh and innocent, as did the delicate white dress. Liam wanted to put his arms around her, put his jacket around her, keep her safe from everything lame, everything dangerous, and anything remotely unpleasant.
“You look beautiful.”
Spencer flushed at the compliment, which only made Liam want to give another one. Play it cool, Connelly. He reached out and took her hand, brushing the back of it gently with his thumb. Liam should’ve waited to touch her. But he couldn’t. And she didn’t pull back her hand. Which was awesome. “Looks like we have the same thing.” Yeah, just like that. Chill, Connelly.
“I need to tell you something,” Spencer started. Liam gave her hand a telling squeeze, letting her know she could tell him. It would be okay. “My father will be here.”
Hell, that was a shocker. He swallowed, hard, and dropped her hand, a natural reaction for a man, upon hearing that he’d meet his girlfriend’s dad for the first time.
Wait. Liam blinked hard. Girlfriend? He pushed that back into the box it had come out of. Chill the fuck out, Connelly. According to her, they hadn’t even had a date yet. And they hadn’t come to this together. But here he was, making eyes at her in the lobby.
He was meeting Spencer’s dad. No biggie. The man was just one of a hundred people running the country. The man who’d almost been elected the leader of the free world. Not a problem. He could handle that. Liam was in the middle of an exhalation when Spencer reached out and patted his arm. And here he thought he was playing it cool.
Spencer leaned over. He caught a whiff of her perfume, heady, sweet, and womanly. “This really is a good place to be seen and meet people, if you can stand bombastic, self-righteous holdovers from the nineteenth century,” she whispered.
Liam coughed to hide his laughter.
“And the drinks are horrible, but that’s par for the course,” she continued.
“You still trying to talk me out of this?”
She slipped a hand through his arm and stepped toward the ballroom. “I may leave right after dinner.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “The speaker has something of an image problem.”
“Really?” Liam smirked at her. “Hard to believe since he’s got the best reputation in the business.”
Jokes aside, Liam reached up to adjust his tightening collar. Air. He needed air. Stuffy suits, hundreds of people, waiters, tables—the room closed in. He guessed fresh air was out of the question tonight.
…
The Foundation for the American Family hadn’t been established by a group known for stiff drinks and open bars. Still, wine in tiny glasses was available if you went to the far back corner bar where similarly desperate guests hid out. Spencer wished it wasn’t so déclassé to have a drink in each hand. That rule had been drummed into her head during her sorority pledge semester. Equally unfortunate was the fact that she was recognized by many of the FAF regulars. She sent apologetic glances to Liam as every two feet another of her father’s cronies or her mother’s acquaintances stopped them to chat.
Of course, they wanted introductions to Liam, who handled them graciously. Spencer wasn’t sure when it happened, but soon more men were coming over. Not to talk to her. To talk to Liam, the former professional football star. They clapped his back, discussed this Super Bowl or that championship game. It was an entirely new experience for Spencer, to have a date who was equally well known, yet in an entirely different sphere.
With a hand on the small of her back, or a slight touch on her elbow, they stayed connected. It was nice. For so many years, Spencer had been expected to hold her own. Hayes Hightower had required his wife and daughters to be self-reliant on the campaign trail, to shake hands and smile for available cameras. She’d never had someone by her side until Liam.
While he was involved in a serious discussion about the NFL’s responsibility for football injuries, Spencer turned at a very familiar voice calling her name. Despite the few grays in his dark hair, George Clayton didn’t look a day older than when he had come to work for the Hightower campaign sixteen years earlier. At thirty-six, he was still thin and fit and his boyish charm had matured into a rugged handsomeness that hid a sharp, intelligent mind and a talent for political strategy. Spencer forced her face into campaign mode. “George, how lovely to see you again.”
George raised a skeptical eyebrow as he came toward her. “You didn’t return my calls. Your father h
ad to call you, and you know how he doesn’t want to be involved in the small stuff,” George warned in a low voice. Yes. The small stuff. No, wouldn’t want a father to have to deal with the small stuff, such as calling his own daughter.
Spencer plastered on a smile. “Work’s been crazy, lately. You know how it is.”
George’s laser-like focus sharpened. “What are you working on?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Who are you with?” George nodded at Liam, laughing good-naturedly with the three men who had gathered around him.
“Liam Connelly,” Spencer replied, giving as little information as possible. George didn’t need to know the details of dates or not-dates.
George seemed to mentally rifle through his catalog of contributors, supporters, and/or enemies and she could tell when he wasn’t able to neatly place Liam into one of his boxes when George seemed to move on to a new conversation.
“They’re about to serve dinner. The Senator won’t be happy if you’re late.” Behind George’s back, Spencer barely restrained herself. The urge to roll her eyes overtook her. She wasn’t a child anymore. A fact George and her father seemed to forget. Spencer moved toward her assigned table. Wouldn’t want to be late for dinner.
Before she could move, Liam was back at her side.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his brows drawn together in concern.
Spencer was taken aback. “Why?”
“You had your ice queen face on when you were talking to that guy.”
“Who?” Spencer asked as she followed Liam’s nod. “George?” She shrugged. “He’s just my father’s chief of staff. We don’t always see eye to eye.”
“On what?”
The list was endless. Spencer settled on, “My life. How I live it.”
Liam’s eyes were speculative. “Does your father’s chief of staff get to decide that?”
It was an A-ha moment. Of course George didn’t get a say in her life. She’d been saying that for years. But somehow, hearing it from Liam’s mouth struck a nerve. And the nerve vibrated around her system and empowered her.
Know When to Hold Him Page 15